


Good Graces

by Winnywriter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Grace Sharing, M/M, Season/Series 07, Soul Bond, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winnywriter/pseuds/Winnywriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm not dead, let's have dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Graces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musicofthespheres](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicofthespheres/gifts).



> Spoilers for the beginning of Season 7.

_I'm not dead. Let's have dinner._

The text message had come with a tug on Castiel's Grace that had led him to an abandoned back lot behind a Mexican restaurant called 'El Toro Loco' in Boise, Idaho. It was approximately 2 A.M

“So you got my message then?” Balthazar asked, as if it was the simplest question in the world, and so very easy to answer. But it wasn't, and Castiel knew this; he could barely think, let alone speak. As he stared, Balthazar grinned. “Cassie, you look like you've just seen a ghost.”

His voice was little more than a ragged breath: “Balthazar...”

“Castiel,” Balthazar replied mockingly. “It's been too long, hasn't it? Last time I saw you...well, last time I saw you I had a blade sticking through my chest, so my memory isn't as crystal clear as usual.” He ran a hand absently over his own collar, down toward where Castiel's angel blade had pierced him, before letting his arm drop again to his side.

Castiel gazed at the asphalt beneath his shoes. “You should be dead.”

“For all intents and purposes, yes, I should be. But I'm not.”

He took a step forward, and Castiel lurched, squaring his shoulders and tensing his muscles in a defensive combat position as he stared down the phantom before him. Balthazar paused, looking surprised for just a moment before his expression dissolved into a melancholy smile so different from his usual smirk.

“It was the strangest thing,” he continued, cutting a wide, slow path around Castiel with the angel's eyes trained on him the whole way. “I remember going nuclear with your blade jammed into my ribcage, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in some pub in Liverpool. No power, no memory, no contact with anybody who wasn't at least halfway drunk.” He stopped, scratching his stubble-rough chin thoughtfully. “And then just about two weeks ago it all came back to me, all at once. Like the world's worst migraine on Heaven's orders.”

Castiel set his jaw, and his laser-like stare faltered. “Two weeks...” he mused, mostly to himself. “That would have been right around when I escaped from-”

“Purgatory,” Balthazar finished. “So I heard. Your plan didn't go quite as you would have liked, did it?”

Again, Castiel found the ground intensely interesting, and his military posture faded, a heavy slump in his shoulders taking its place. “No...” He glanced back up at Balthazar, still unbelieving. “But you were dead. I killed you. You shouldn't be alive, and you shouldn't be here. It's not possible.”

Balthazar shrugged. “Well you did seem very intent on putting a stop to my continued existence, but maybe you just didn't want it badly enough?”

“That's not how it works, Balthazar. You know that. The world doesn't operate on wishful thinking.”

Balthazar approached him again, and Castiel stiffened, but not as much as before. As he grinned, warmly this time, Balthazar reached out and put a careful hand on Castiel's shoulder. “Having a crisis of faith, are we, old friend?”

With a hum, Balthazar's Grace reached out, and Castiel could feel his own rising to meet it. Warmth enveloped him, familiar and comforting, and his eyes slipped closed on a soft gasp. It had been so long since he'd felt the touch of another's Grace, too long without the companionship and intimacy that could only be known by angels. As Balthazar's presence receded again, Castiel yearned for more, and he found himself leaning forward, pressing his forehead to Balthazar's and gripping his arms tightly. Balthazar let him, his fingers curling around Castiel's elbows and holding him there.

“Look at you,” Balthazar said sadly as Castiel leaned into his touch. “Been dragging your wings through the mud again, haven't you?”

Castiel's voice was nothing more than a whisper, his Grace blindly fumbling in the darkness for that familiar touch as he rasped, “Please...Balthazar...It's been so long, I need...please...”

Balthazar chuckled deep in his throat, but the sound was tinged with pain. “How long has it been since you visited home, Cassie?”

Castiel's fingers dug into the fabric of Balthazar's jacket in response. Balthazar said nothing, but his Grace seeped into Castiel's again, his arms slipping around Castiel's slim torso as it did, and Castiel leaned against him heavily, the scratch of Balthazar's facial hair rough against his skin. It was so welcome that Castiel could have sung for the rich, heady ache of it, feeling like a man drinking his first sips of cool water after wandering endlessly through the desert. Neither of them spoke, through their vessels or otherwise; the soft touches of Grace against Grace were all that were needed, until Castiel found himself still wanting, still craving something more, something tethered to the world to which he'd become so accustomed to walking. And so, Grace still entwined with Balthazar's and coming to life again with the ecstasy of it, Castiel pressed their lips together, hand wandering up to the back of Balthazar's neck and holding him there so that he couldn't disappear before he'd had his fill.

Balthazar did not move closer, nor did he pull away; he let Castiel get as close as he liked, as close as he needed. He let him explore his mouth, let him taste and touch and learn him, all the time keeping their Grace nestled together, warm and familiar. And when Castiel pulled away – but only just – and nuzzled against Balthazar's jaw, Balthazar stared at him, warmly, and waited for him to take a breath and speak.

“Why did you come back?” Castiel asked, his hands skimming down to Balthazar's shoulders.

“I already told you, I don't know-”

“But why did you come back to me? The things I did...I don't deserve-”

Balthazar pressed his index finger to Castiel's lips, silencing him. “Hush, love,” he said. “No more talk about what you deserve. It sounds far too much like a confessional, and you know I can't stand a mass.”

Castiel's palm wandered over Balthazar's chest, settling over the spot where he had run him through with his blade, and he looked thoughtful for a moment, a frown etching deep creases over his already tired face. Balthazar wrapped his fingers around Castiel's wrist, gently pushing his hands away. Suddenly, they were flying together, and in the blink of a human eye they were in an unfamiliar motel, and Balthazar's fingers were running across the length of Castiel's wrist bones.

“You're filthy,” Balthazar commented fondly, and for the first time since Castiel had laid eyes on him, Balthazar pulled away, slipping past him, and he heard the sound of running water. Balthazar returned moments later with a damp cloth in one hand, and his face was expressionless as he ran it across Castiel's forehead, over his cheeks, across his eyelids when they fluttered closed.

“My vessel,” Castiel corrected. Balthazar hummed questioningly. “My vessel is dirty. Not me.”

Balthazar chuckled. “Oh, not just your vessel, Cassie, but there's not much this-” He raised to washcloth to eye level. “-can do about that.” He slid the trench coat off of Castiel's shoulders, let it drop to the floor in a heap.

Balthazar lingered on Castiel's face, his fingers brushing across his skin just a bit more than they needed to as he drew the cloth across his jaw, his neck, up to his ears. All the while, every time Castiel's Grace reached out for his, it was just there, always just within reach, and it glowed warm with every touch.

“Why are you doing this?” Castiel finally asked.

“Can't stand a dirty face,” said Balthazar, and he added, before Castiel could speak again, “And I know that's not what you mean.” The washcloth trailed down across Castiel's collarbone, catching on the buttons of his shirt. Balthazar reached out to undo them, one by one, slowly, and Castiel just watched as he did. Balthazar undid the tie, pushed the shirt and jacket off of Castiel's torso and slid the cloth across his chest, down over his stomach, then up again and down one arm, and then the other. Castiel let out a sigh.

They were silent for a long moment until Castiel pointed out, musingly, “You said you wanted to have dinner.”

“What?”

“Your message. You said, 'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner.'”

A warm smile spread across Balthazar's features. “Now there's the Cassie I know and love. Don't you get the BBC?”

Castiel squinted.

“Sherlock? Irene Adler, darling. 'I'm not dead, let's have dinner.' You really must watch more television, Cas. It's compelling stuff.”

“I don't understand what a television program has to do with what you're trying to say.”

“Oh, Cassie, Cassie, Cassie...” Balthazar reached up, suddenly sobering, and cupped Castiel's jaw in his rough palm. Castiel found himself leaning into the touch. “You've been far too alone for far too long, my friend.” Castiel's brow furrowed at that.

“I haven't-”

“Yes you have. I know.”

“How?”

Balthazar smiled sadly. “Because I have, too.” He chuckled. “You know, sometimes I think angels live far too long. I'm _old,_ Cas.”

To his surprise, Castiel found himself mirroring Balthazar's smile, if only just. “As am I.” Castiel was silent for a long time, turning over Balthazar's words and message in his mind, and Balthazar fought back a grin when he saw it beginning to click. “What are you suggesting, Balthazar?” Castiel asked, and he sounded far less scandalized than Balthazar would have expected; it almost seemed as though he already knew the answer to the question before hearing it.

“Well I'm not suggesting either of us be alone, for now at least,” Balthazar said on a chuckle, eyebrows arching and voice surprisingly tender. He trailed the washcloth over Castiel's chest, his fingers brushing against the ragged peaks of the sigil-shaped scar there, and he studied the mark intently. Castiel's eyes followed his hand's every move as Balthazar said, “Rather I'm suggesting the two of us...not being alone...together.” He sighed. “If you can forgive my horrid grammar.”

Suddenly Castiel's hand was brushing against Balthazar's again, Grace nudging at his, tentative but insistent. He took ahold of Balthazar's palm, not stopping its movement or guiding it, but merely letting Balthazar drag his hand along as he continued to trace the scar on Castiel's chest. Both pairs of eyes slipped closed, neither of them needing human senses to find the other as they pressed their mouths together again.

It was Castiel who deepened the kiss, reaching up to run his fingers through Balthazar's hair, and the washcloth was suddenly falling to the floor, forgotten as Balthazar pushed forward, and both of them fell back onto the bed. Castiel stared up at him, entranced, reaching out to press his palm to Balthazar's cheek, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of his bones and flesh.

Finally, with another nudge of Balthazar's Grace, Castiel's wings unfurled, stretching across the room, curling around them both, bright and thrumming in time with every beat of his vessel's heart. Balthazar fought the urge to blink, not wanting to miss a second of the display beneath him; a human could never perceive such ecstatic beauty. Balthazar looked Castiel in the eye again as he felt a thumb tracing its way across his jaw, and neither of them said a word. Their Grace drowned out any words that may have risen up before they could make it past their lips.

Balthazar took Castiel's hand from his face, pressed his arms up above his head and pinned them there, gently, Castiel's knuckles brushing against the mahogany headboard as he curled his fingers to entwine them with Balthazar's. Castiel pressed up against him, back arching as he pushed their hips together, and a breathy whining groan tumbled from Balthazar's throat.

Their lips were just a breath apart, not touching, just lingering as Castiel's wings arched and pulsed with his Grace. The intimacy of it was frightening, but it drew them closer instead of making them want to flee, and Balthazar lowered himself down until their bodies were flush together from knee to chest, and he pressed his lips to Castiel's almost timidly.

Castiel's wings blazed suddenly, his Grace bursting from him and clawing at Balthazar's, all gentle nudges and tender touches forgotten for the moment, and he pressed his palms to Balthazar's chest, turning them, pinning him down, straddling his hips. His wings flared behind him, stretching triumphantly.

Balthazar's cocksure grin faded when Castiel pulled at his shirt, yanking it off of him and tossing it away. Next was his belt, and then the rest of his clothing; he was tearing the layers off of Balthazar and himself desperately, hurriedly, the hunger gnawing deep in his belly too hot to ignore. Balthazar's arms were around him, strong and vice-like as Castiel nipped at his neck, plunged his tongue past his teeth, trying to devote the taste of him to memory: champagne and spice and the tang of sea air.

Castiel felt bare and exposed – not because of his naked body or the growing evidence of the arousal that was seated in bones and blood instead of Grace; the human form was nothing that necessitated shame, but as Balthazar reached out and ran a hand across the plane of his wing – something that would be impossible for any but another angel – a shiver ran through them both. Their Graces were entwined so tightly now that it was becoming difficult to distinguish what was Castiel and what was Balthazar. Part of him almost wanted to pull away from the pleasure, to retreat into himself, to take comfort in the familiar singularity that was his own lonely Grace wrapped up in his vessel, but he couldn't bring himself to do so; he was sure that he couldn't have even if he wanted to.

Balthazar sat up, holding him tight and steady as their legs tangled on top of the sheets and Castiel settled on his lap. Castiel kissed him, hard and deep, the time for gentleness past, and they held fast to each other, chest to chest, their erections sliding together and forcing a gasp from Castiel and a groan from Balthazar. Castiel's wings formed a cocoon around them, pushing their bodies closer together, as if their flesh could meld together in the same way their Grace had.

They were breathing raggedly, Balthazar's hands blazing a hot trail up Castiel's spine and latching around his neck, pulling him closer. Slowly, Balthazar unfurled his own wings, and they wrapped around Castiel's and brushed together. The jolt of their Grace sent Castiel' lurching forward, pinning Balthazar back against the headboard, his hands braced on either side of his head and his hips rolling wildly.

Balthazar's hand slipped from Castiel's shoulder, wandering down between their bodies, and the touch on his flushed skin was enough; Castiel cried out, burying his face in the crook of Balthazar's neck as his wings quivered and his body shook. Balthazar followed soon after, coming not with a cry or a groan, but with a sigh that rattled his vessel's frame, and his wings and Grace folded even tighter around the two of them.

They dipped downward onto the bed, lying side by side, breathing harshly as their wings receded, but their Grace remained twisted and twined together, a soothing connection that warmed Castiel down to his bones.

Castiel lay on his stomach on the sheets, Balthazar running a hand up his spine, and he sighed into the pillow. The tiredness that overtook him was unexpected and all-consuming. “You could use some sleep, I think,” Balthazar said softly, lying on his back and looking over at him as his knuckles made their way between Castiel's shoulder blades.

“I don't need to sleep,” Castiel pointed out, though his voice was muffled by the soft down pillow.

Balthazar smiled warmly. “No, but you could use it none the less. Sometimes one just needs to be dead to the world for a bit, don't you think?”

Castiel found himself too tired to express his gratitude through words, so he did so through his Grace instead. He only had time to hope fleetingly that Balthazar understood before he closed his eyes and found himself slipping blissfully away into soft, inviting darkness.


End file.
